


Cover Your Eyes

by Sharkseye



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Sounds a lot darker than it actually is, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkseye/pseuds/Sharkseye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be a 5+1 with Loki saving Clint, but it turned into a 4 times Loki did something for Clint, 3 times Loki wanted to own Clint, and 1 time he did.  All condensed into 4 chapters.  Or something like that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is finished, I'll just post the four chapters over four days. I wasn't too pleased with the story, but decided to post it anyways, 'cause there are a few parts I quite like. Anyways, enjoy?

Across the room from where his master sat, Clint crouched completely still, dividing his focus between worrying over Loki and watching the mercenaries and scientists working close by.  Most of them shared his bright blue eyes, but there were also those who Clint had brought in and Loki had promised payment to, those who could still betray them.  Not that Clint would allow that to happen.  No harm would come to Loki while the hawk was around.

The motion of Loki’s head snapping to the side rerouted all of Clint’s attention and he instantly brought his bow up, trying to find the threat.  When his master didn’t turn to fight or make any other response than sitting up straighter with a grimace, Clint realized that it was the invisible connection following Loki around in his mind.  Clint didn’t know what it was, only that it caused his master to space out at random times, being thrust back into awareness with a wound additional to the ones he already had or shortness of breath.  It was also, Clint was quite sure, the reason Loki looked so hunted, like he was being forced into things by something more powerful than himself.  His mind balked at the thought of there being anything more powerful than the sorcerer, but he knew it was true and wanted to do something to stop it, to protect Loki.

Angry at his helplessness, Clint tried to think of something he could do to help his master, as evidently what he had been doing wasn’t enough and he couldn’t fight enemies he couldn’t see.  The hawk had brought Loki food and water regularly which he had consumed, but any attempts at cajoling his master into sleeping or attempts at making him happy had failed quite miserably.  Then again, Clint thought, something occurring to him, Loki probably didn’t want to sleep anywhere that he could possibly be harmed, and he evidently didn’t trust Clint enough to protect him.  Therefore, Clint had to do something to either tire his master out enough that he would have to sleep, or to prove his complete loyalty.  Or both, with the additional plus of giving Loki pleasure, happiness even while being hunted by something Clint couldn’t fight.

Mind made up, the hawk stood up and approached Loki, trying to convey concern and importance in his tone without accidently making an order.  “Can I talk to you?”

Loki looked up sharply, and a burst of warmth went through the archer when the scowl on his master’s face dissipated after seeing who was speaking to him.  Loki had placed him above the others since the beginning, calling him Loki’s Hawk, his second, watching him with lust and possessiveness in his eyes.  “What is it?”

“Over here” Clint nodded to a hallway across from where the other humans were working. 

Loki was shaky as he stood but Clint ignored it, pretending he wasn’t adjusting his stance so that his master could grasp his arm to help him stay on his feet.  Letting go quickly, Loki followed Clint down the hallway and to the side room the hawk remembered seeing a mattress in.  With Loki already off balance from whatever unseen attack had just occurred, it was easy for Clint to catch him by surprise and trip him into sitting down on the bed. 

The scowl came back and his master opened his mouth to speak, but Clint halted the question by dropping his bow to the side and straddling the god, pushing him back.  He knew it was necessary, but could not quite look Loki in the eyes as he explained, “You need to sleep.  I know you don’t want to while there are a lot of people around, so you can stay in here and I’ll watch over you.”  Here the hawk paused to place a gentle hand on his master’s now curious face before adding, “I’ve seen you watching me so I know you want me.  I’ll do whatever you need to help you get rest or comfort.”

Now Loki looked surprised, his eyes wide as he stared at Clint, who patiently waited for a response, ready to give his master whatever was asked of him.  He hadn’t been lying, he knew Loki watched him, had caught flashes of want in the other’s eyes and too long stares.  There was a distant place in the back of his mind that was screaming at him over what he was doing, shaking in terror and fear over what exactly Loki would do to him, but it was unimportant so Clint ignored it.  It didn’t matter how rough Loki would be or whether Clint had wanted something like this before his master took him.  Now this was for Loki, anything for him.  

“You have heart, my hawk” Loki said softly, repeating his first words to Clint as he turned his face into the archers hand without breaking their gaze, “And you’ve been so good, but I won’t take this from you.”

“You aren’t taking anything, I’m giving myself to you” Clint responded, confused as to what his master could mean, even as the back of his mind screamed louder against his protest.

His words only served to make a shadow of sadness cross Loki’s face, but before he could worry that he had said something wrong, Loki leaned forwards and kissed him, surprisingly chaste and barely a brush of lips before he was pulling away, drawing both of them back onto the mattress.  Thinking his master had decided to fuck him after all, Clint pressed forward into Loki, only to be stilled and held close.

“And I would accept if you were, but now I will only take your company, we both need our strength.”  Loki whispered, a faint green glow shimmering at his hands and then at the door out of the corner of Clint’s eye.  Helpfully his master elaborated on the magic use.  “There’s no need for you to be my watch little one, I have set wards that will wake us both up in a period of time, or should anyone approach.  Go to sleep my hawk.” 

Clint smiled softly, still confused by Loki’s refusal to use his body the way he had offered, but content with this anyways.  Either way he’d be with his master.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after saying I'd post once a day, I completely forgot about this story and that I had even posted it. Here are two chapters to make up for the delay

The first time Clint saw Loki after the sorcerer escaped from whatever prison Asgard had put him in, the archer shot an arrow through his eye, only to be disappointed with it went straight through, the illusion dissipating as the real Loki grabbed him from behind, yanking his bow from his hands and making a twisting motion with his hands that disappeared the weapon.  Realizing just how terrible the situation he found himself in was, Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver in one hand and unsheathed a knife in the other. 

Their fight was soundless, and in the end Clint was weaponless and on his back with Loki straddling him in a mirror image of the time mindcontrolled-Clint had offered himself to his former master. 

“Get off of me!”  Clint whisper-hissed, not wanting to alert the mark he had been just about to shoot to his position.  He was furious, but for whatever reason not scared, knowing somehow that Loki wasn’t going to hurt him, and not wanting the sorcerer to ruin something that had required Clint to be in deep cover for the past three months to do.

“Now don’t be like that, it took me a while to find you” Loki replied at the same volume, his voice carrying amusement rather than hatred, “One would think you’d be more welcoming than an arrow at my head.”

For a second Clint gaped, and then spat, “More welcoming?  Fuck you!  You killed Phil! You’re lucky I’m _just_ planning on putting an arrow through your eye! If you come near me while ‘Tasha’s around, we’re going to skin you!”

“Oh?  But _you’ll_ just settle for an arrow?”  Loki’s voice was serious suddenly and Clint went still underneath him.  “I know you’re not saying that because you think you need your sister’s help to skin me”

No, that wasn’t why, and they both knew it.  Clint settled for glaring at the sorcerer as the real reasoning for him only wanting to shoot Loki with something he’d survive went through his head.  Loki had been controlled into the attack on Earth in a different way than he had controlled Clint, but he had been controlled all the same, by that unseen enemy Clint had wanted to protect his former master from.  But that didn’t change the fact that Phil Coulson was dead, that Loki knew ‘Tasha and Phil were like his sister and father, and yet had killed the latter. 

“I told you what ‘Tasha and Phil are to me, you knew I love them, and you went after them both!  You used what I told you against ‘Tasha, manipulated her into fighting with Banner and then you fucking killed Phil! I’m not going to fucking welcome you!”  He realized he had almost yelled that last part when everything descended into frozen silence. 

There was movement from below and Clint swore as the mark and two other people in the room drew weapons, shouting at each other and reaching for phones.  Before any of them had even touched a way of alerting the rest of the facility to an intruder, Loki moved, sitting up and swinging his arm out, three blades finding their ways into three throats.  For a second the sorcerer watched them gurgle as they drowned in their own blood, but then he turned back to Clint, a slightly confused look on his face. 

“I did not kill your Coulson, I merely harmed him enough he would not join in the coming battle.” Loki said, tilting his head to the side like a confused cat.  

“Ya, well he’s pretty dead, so you might want to work on that” Clint snarled, trying to ignore the burst of hope that had flowered at his former master’s words.  They hadn’t seen the body, but Fury had called it, had told them Phil was dead…

After a few more moments where Loki merely sat on Clint and contemplated him, the sorcerer stood, pulling the archer up with him.  Clint went to step away, but Loki grabbed him, pulling him bodily against the sorcerer and then taking gentle but firm hold of either side of his face. 

“I would never kill any who belong to you.  I needed to get the beast out and your Romanov was the only one they sent to me.  She’s smart, I knew she’d get out of the way in time after he transformed.  Agent Coulson needed to be injured to draw the Avengers together in time to fight the Chitauri, but I swear to you that I did not kill him.”  Loki promised urgently, searching Clint’s eyes like his whole world was based in them. 

After a second of Clint’s disbelieving silence, his former master closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then releasing it.  Then he leaned in and kissed Clint, the archer finding himself responding automatically, pressing into the kiss even as he rebelled against wanting the person who had killed Phil.  Then Loki was gone and Clint opened his eyes to find himself outside, his bow in hand and Loki nowhere to be seen.

 

Three days later, two days after Clint had lied during his debriefing and was sent back to Stark Tower where the Avengers were being housed, Phil Coulson walked through the doors and into the middle of a team breakfast.  When they all finally calmed down enough to hear what had happened, Phil told them that he had spent the time since the invasion in an induced coma, and just hours before he had unexpectedly woken up, completely healed. 

Amidst the cursing of Shield and Fury, the bone shattering relief of having his handler back, and the joy of them all being together again, one single theme flowed on repeat through Clint’s head.  Loki had woken Phil up.  His former master hadn’t been lying.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters were posted today, don't miss 'em!

There were a few reasons as to why Tony was not completely freaking out when faced with the situation he was currently in, sitting in a pool of his own blood that had only moments before been spurting quite unpleasantly from his exposed but now completely healed torso.  Most of the other Avengers facing the same situation—having his life saved by the very threat that brought the Avengers together—would be dumbfounded, analyzing, maybe even thinking of ways to get said threat on their side as they watched Loki disappear into a swirl of smoke.  But Tony?  Tony’s reaction was a bit different, and for two big reasons.  

Now, most people thought Tony was completely unobservant when it came to the emotions of others, and, well, most people would be right.  Mostly.  In the case of Tony wanting something from someone however, something he couldn’t buy with his money or his name?  He was very observant, his brain automatically picking up cues to speak, flaws to exploit, wishes to subtly bribe with.  Very few people—read, Pepper and Rhodey—knew just how perceptive Tony could be when he wanted something, which meant they let their guards down more around him.  Oh, not enough for an unobservant person to tell, but then again, Tony wasn’t exactly unobservant.  He had, after all, lived with Howard Stark up until the old man died, and as a kid it had always been extremely important to know when Howard’s expressionlessness was because he had been drinking, working on Captain America exploits, or lost in his own mind.  Not that Tony could’ve disturbed any of these things, just that there was a difference in how to avoid Howard when each of those played out. 

But, anyways, moving on to the first reason.  Magic, or rather, a way to get to knowledge of magic.  Something Tony currently wanted.  Not necessarily to be able to do magic—okay, that too—but to understand it, to figure it out and play around with it.  To incorporate it into designs Shield would never see, to mix magic and science and make something completely new—not weapons though, never again.  He had asked Thor in the beginning about magic, but the thunderer was almost amusing in how much he didn’t know, considering he grown up with the ‘best sorcerer in the Nine Realms’.  Since magic Thor was a no-go, next obvious step was said best sorcerer, Loki.  Originally the plan had been to get enough information on the sorcerer from Thor and the many times Loki attacked the US—if turning whole streets into chocolate, animating all the statues in Hollywood, and leaving after the annoyingly numerous times he won counted as attacking—that he’d have something to bargain with the next time Tony and Loki met up for what was fast becoming a mandatory removal of the suit—or just faceplate—during each of their battles.  However as time passed, Tony found himself sympathizing more and more with the sorcerer, listening to an outsiders observations on what was practically Tony’s exact story, and digging up remarks and even whole conversations they started having in these moments of dual cease-fire that made everything except their respective passions of science and magic disappear.  Additionally, though Loki was quite tight-lipped about the whole Chitauri threat, a few things tended to slip out that said maybe things weren’t exactly what they seemed.  And so bargaining became befriending, reason number one for not freaking out when Loki had yanked the metal pole impaling Tony out of his abdomen and placed his hand on the resulting wound.

Tony’s interest in Loki could’ve gone sexual if he had been any more narcissistic—a personality type he’d never thought he’d be lacking in—however instead it angled to more the same of what Tony wanted from Bruce.  Sciencebros.  Magicbuddies.  What the hell, he totally wanted to grab Loki and drag him into Tony’s lab where the three of them could spend days creating.  Together they would be able to do _anything_ , he just knew it. 

But therein lied the problem that shortened reason one, but also led directly into reason two, actually getting Loki to agree to such a thing and the reasonable—but few—decencies that came along with.  And about a month past Coulson suddenly being alive, with Tony pretending to watch a movie he had seen thousands of times before while actually listening to a conversation between Barton, Agent, and Rogers, the solution to the problem was at hand and reason two was found.  Tony wasn’t exactly sure what Steve had asked, but they had gotten onto the topic of Loki, and when Coulson’s back was turned to answer one of Capsicles questions about the aftermath of being stabbed, instead of rage or disgust on Barton’s face, there had been gratefulness, a hint of longing.  Such an odd reaction demanded more time spent on figuring it out, and soon Tony noticed just how confused—lust, worry, affection, protectiveness—Barton was about Loki. 

During the times that the sorcerer ‘attacked’, Barton was off his game, not shooting to kill, and doing a curious dance of trying to get closer and acting like he wanted to run far away.  Also during the times that said sorcerer appeared, green shimmers would appear to misdirect debris flying towards Barton, Loki’s eyes would follow the archer, and once he had actually disappeared in the middle of one of his and Tony’s little mid-battle conversations, only to reappear a ways away, making a gesture with his hand that instantly dismantled the giant spider creature that had just been about to stab the Hawk.  Honestly Tony had no idea how Romanov hadn’t caught onto her partners little love-fest with the enemy, but then sometimes she’d do something that maybe said that she had, and was tolerating it for Barton.

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, and reason two.  The little love affair going on between an insane but pretty awesome sorcerer and his former mind controlled minion.  Ya, Tony didn’t get it either.  But it meant that Loki didn’t allow any of the Avengers to die, a constant that started occurring after a giant fire-breathing scorpion thing Loki got from who-knows-where burned the Hulk and Bruce was laid up for what was going to be weeks after.  Barton had looked furious the next time he saw Loki, Loki had looked contrite, and Bruce—exactly like Coulson—had made a miraculous recovery.  Since then they had all—minus Barton—gained wounds from fighting with Loki, but never fatal or life-threatening. 

Even going so far as to heal life-threatening wounds, Tony thought, prodding at his side where the metal pole had been.  The sounds of explosions and shouting continued, but Tony knew it would grow quiet soon now that Loki had left.  He should probably be getting up to go and help clean up the last of Loki’s current minions, but the memory of his skin and guts pulling themselves back together lingered.  Was Loki actually creating new matter, or was he reverting it back to the way it was before?  If he could create matter it’d be amazing in the lab, in fact, they could probably combine that with Tony’s holograms to actually create designs as they’re planning them out, which would be incredible, except that they’d have to make everything a little more explosion proof, considering the many times that Tony’s plans failed and blew up, holographic explosion courtesy of Jarvis.  But that’d be easy, ‘cause Loki already made blast shields during their fighting and if Tony could somehow anchor magic to his own custom shields….


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I wasn't very happy with this, but then through much editing and rewriting, I think I am as much as I'll ever be
> 
> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> There's kind of graphic descriptions of torture in the beginning of this chapter, so if you want to skip that, start reading on the third paragraph, with 'The unexpected sound of people other than him screaming...'. All you really need to know is that Clint lost the use of his eyes and hands, got tortured a lot, and lost all hope. :( That sounds really terrible, all condensed...
> 
> Also! If anyone wants to perhaps read oneshots of things in this story, just leave a comment and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading!!

Clint had no idea how long he had been a prisoner for.  In the beginning he had made sure to count the dates, count the time he had been held, look for exits, collect any potentially useful information for an escape.  In the beginning he had held hope for the Avengers coming to rescue him, take him away from the crimson stained walls that surrounded him, the horrible smells that came from a denial of basic hygiene, the pain of endless torture, and starvation of just enough food and water to survive.  He had held that hope through the very first day of his captors slicing into his skin and taking out the SHIELD tracker, mandatory for all their assets, through the eighteenth day of them placing razor filled shoes on his feet and parading him down nondescript hallways—he had tried to run then, tried to make an escape that he might have managed, had his feet not been gored every time he took a step—he had even held out hope on the thirty-ninth day when his fingers were shattered, broken, bent backward and burnt.  The day he lost hope, the day he started wishing for death was his forty-fifth day in captivity—however long ago that was now—when one of his tormenters took a hot iron to his eyes. 

Since then time had lost meaning, pain was just more rocks piled on an already crushed bird.  Were anyone to come across him they’d only find him here useless, redundant, completely dependent on anyone else other than himself.  A burden without aim or sight.  And that?  That he couldn’t live with.  His aim had been the one thing he had worked for all his life, from knife throwing and archery at the circus to forcing himself to be noticed in Shield, working for every single upgrade to his bow, slaving to get scraps that any untrained gun wielding idiot got first time they asked.  His life had finally changed when Coulson found him, when he had brought in ‘Tasha and they had become a little triad of trust so strong it couldn’t be broken.  But now all that was worthless, gone with his eyes and hands.  Even if he was rescued, he’d just hold his handler and best friend back, something he never wanted to do.  It’d be better if he died here, overheated, naked as the day he was born, and chained to the wall in a lightless ten by eleven foot room, stinking of blood, pain, and urine. 

 

The unexpected sound of people other than him screaming brought Clint out of the darkness his mind had fallen into, and he lifted his head in the direction he remembered the door being in.  Had his rescue come finally?  When it was far too late to save him?  Maybe they wouldn’t notice him here, maybe they’d destroy the whole building he must be in, bring the roof down on him, bring darkness that didn’t come from his lack of sight but never ended none the less. 

The noises continued, but after a while Clint’s apathy to life had him tuning out the din, trying to fall back into that uneasy half-sleep he spent most of his time in, unable to fully go under due to chronic pain, but missing enough awareness that he didn’t have to think.  He had just started to fall back when the door to his cell was slammed open and his body completely tensed in expectation of more pain. Instead there was a sharp inhale, familiar though he couldn’t quite place it. 

“Clint?” The voice sounded horrified with an undercurrent he was slow to recognize as protective rage, but he still couldn’t tell who had finally found him some time too late. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell whoever it was to leave him be, but found that his throat was too dry for what he wanted, no, _needed_ to say.  There was a touch to his neck that had him automatically flinching away, but then the realization of cold got to his brain and he pushed forward, not even caring when bruises were aggravated from his enthusiasm for something other than the constant heat he was dealing with.  The voice was saying something else, but Clint didn’t listen, instead spending a few moments basking in the cold hand on his neck, on the other that carefully touched his arm.

When the hands both moved to pull apart the shackle on his wrist, Clint knew his time of relaxation was over, and tried to speak again, this time managing it in a scratchy voice he didn’t recognize as his own.  “Y-you have to, to kill me, please.”

Instantly the hands stilled and he bared his neck, tilting his head to the side and feeling a detached amusement when it flopped over onto his shoulder. 

“I’m not going to kill you, my precious Hawk.” The voice denied his request and Clint would’ve given up in despair had the title not sparked something within him, a memory perhaps, or a feeling. 

This person who found him wasn’t an Avenger, wasn’t of Shield, wasn’t someone Clint would ever think to be rescued by, but was, maybe, safe?  The owner of the voice was someone who had hurt him, had stolen something from him, but had also praised him, had accepted his choices, wanted to keep him.  Chosen him and loved him, and with no barriers of identities or dispositions he thought might love the owner of the voice back.  Not in the same way he loved Coulson or ‘Tasha, but he knew he loved this person nonetheless.   He didn’t know why it was a certainty, but he knew that he wouldn’t be holding his nameless lover—lover?—back, he would be safe, he wouldn’t have to make decisions.  He could leave himself in their hands, and it wouldn’t matter that he was useless, it would just be, _okay_?

“Go to sleep.” Words were whispered and Clint found himself immediately relaxing, responding to the order easily.  A soft set of lips pressed against his and then even the darkness he was in faded away, along with thought and everything else.

 

Clint’s mind was sluggish and confused when he first surfaced, still not fully conscious, but he was aware of an arm behind his back, holding him against a naked chest and supporting him in the few inches of water he could tell he was sitting in.  The water ran in small rivulets down his skin, pouring off a soft cloth that someone was wiping over him, cleaning his abdomen with.  He could tell the fabric was squeezed out from the feeling being taken away and the sound of water falling on water, but thankfully it quickly came back, blessedly cool as it ran over his body.  Clint thought perhaps he should’ve been freaking out at the amount of physical contact he was receiving, at the gentleness of the touches cleaning him, but there was no pain, none of the agony of bones healing wrong, of bruises being pressed against, of cuts that were still open, of eyes he longer had.  No pain at all, just a burning weariness that permeated through his entire being, encouraging him to lean against the man holding him, cleaning him off. 

His head felt curiously light and he shifted somewhat, nuzzling into clean skin that smelt of ozone and a crisp wind.  After a few seconds of motion he realized that the hair that had been steadily growing and becoming matted throughout his captivity was gone, and he was left with barely more than a buzz cut.  Further exploration of his body through movement that the hands merely worked around, found that the rest of his hair was gone as well, none that he could tell under his arms, on his legs or arms, and only a few scratchy pieces on his groin.  Clint was barely able to feel irritated by these few bits of tangled hair before he noted his legs being spread and the cloth was wiping them away, unabashed in the extremely intimate way the person holding him was touching him.  After finishing rinsing, the touches moved onto the inside of his thighs where he could feel his skin parting, a long gash he been given weeks or days ago.  Still there was no pain as the cut was cleaned out, as careful fingers delicately plucked slivers from his wounds. 

It felt as if none of the torture of the past months or years had ever happened, as if he could open melted eyelids and see whoever was touching him so lovingly, so assured of absolute ownership of him, ownership that Clint’s body was subconsciously and willingly giving despite still not knowing who held him.  It all seemed so unimportant, because he knew this person, knew that he belonged to them, and that he loved them.  Nothing else mattered.  Darkness again.

 

Something was being passed between his lips, a mushy juice of some kind, something that tasted like heaven and perfection and the first meal him and ‘Tasha had eaten after making it out of Budapest.  It was amazing and he wanted more, greedily swallowing whatever those hands were giving him.  Fingertips affectionately brushed his cheek and he automatically leaned into the touch, practically purring with all the comfort that was being allotted to him.  More of the substance was pressed into his mouth and it was all his favorite foods, it was ozone and a crisp breeze, it was like chocolate and coffee and frozen lemonade and apples…

 

The first time he was completely sensible and aware since being in his cell, Clint awoke to find himself lying on a soft bed, warm covers blanketing but not overheating him, absolute luxury he felt like he had never had before.  A soft breeze rolled gently across his newly military cut hair and he opened his eyes to find himself in a large mint green room with darker green accents and a large window overlooking the sea.  It was an absolutely gorgeous view that he sat mindlessly watching for long minutes, listening to seagulls and feeling calm despite the exhaustion that still plagued him.  Then he froze, completely still and staring with wide eyes.  Wide _eyes_.  Carefully he brought his hands up to his face, running over smooth unblemished skin until he reached the places that so recently had only been pitted and scarred over with burns.  Now his eyelashes were soft against his fingers, the skin unbroken.  Just as soon as the first realization had come, another hit him and he pulled his hands away from his face, staring now at his straight and mobile fingers.  He had his eyes and fingers back, his hands, he was whole again!  Pushing away the covers he found himself both completely naked and completely healed.  All of his old scars were faded, and only the places where he remembered the worst wounds being carried thin scars that looked to be years old. 

Ecstatic and determined to explore his freedom, Clint swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, reveling in walking across the room and feeling the thick carpet he padded across, no pain in his feet whatsoever.  It was only when he had reached the other side that he realized he might’ve been a bit hasty in his desire for movement without pain, and he had to lean heavily facing the wall in order to keep himself standing, panting like he had run a marathon, his legs locking up and unused muscles protesting.  But oh fuck, it felt wonderful.

“You should rest, for a while exertion will tax you when it wouldn’t have before.  Your body is not yet used to the changes done upon it.” The voice chided from behind him, and Clint _finally_ figured out who it was.

“Loki?” He breathed out, minor aching pain coming back in his maneuvering to get off the wall and turn to face his former master.

It was indeed Loki who was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed Clint had been lying in, the sorcerer watching him with a slight but fond smile.  Picking up a strip of leather from the ground, Loki marked the page of the book he had evidently been reading while waiting for Clint to wake, putting it to the side and rising.

Clint waited for the anger to well up inside him, for the pain and disgust to prod him into screaming at the sorcerer as per usual, but to his surprise it never came.  Instead it was like a revelation, the memories of Loki refusing to rape him even when he offered himself and the other had nothing to lose, of screaming at Loki over Coulson’s supposed death only for the man to walk through the door to Stark Tower short days later, of midnight talks with ‘Tasha where he told her he didn’t hate Loki even though he knew he should, that he thought the sorcerer had maybe been coerced into the invasion same as he was.  Of the thankfulness he felt after Loki had saved Banner and Stark.  Of the hands that pulled Clint from hell and cleaned him, held him like something precious, something owned.  The liberties taken should’ve enraged him, but instead he felt as if they were a given, as if Loki did have the right to touch him like that, when he was so vulnerable. 

By the time the thoughts had finished running through his head Loki was in front of him, cool hands running over Clint’s arms to knead at sore muscles.  The sorcerer grimaced slightly as he spoke.  “I apologize for not getting to you sooner, I wasn’t on Earth for much of your captivity and your torturers had their own magic user to hide you.” 

“Had?”  Clint repeated, unsure of why he was plucking that word out of the confusing apology Loki had given and relaxing too much from the impromptu massage to examine it. 

“They are all dead, everyone who stole or harmed you.” He replied smugly, his wonderful hands moving to knead at Clint’s shoulders. 

The archer probably should’ve had a problem with that with whole Avenger policy of trying not to kill enemies, but he actually relaxed despite the only thing keeping him standing was the fact that his legs were too locked up to bend.  He was quite glad they were dead.

“You are _my_ hawk, I’m the only one allowed to do you harm.”  Loki continued, his voice oozing with possessiveness. 

The very statement was messed up, but really Clint couldn’t give a fuck.  Loki gave him back his eyes, his hands, his life.  Now, watching his former master as he manipulated Clint’s body into feeling nothing but pleasure, Clint was beginning to realize that he was again a captive, only this time there were no sceptres involved and perhaps he didn’t want to escape.  Loki wanted him, who knew why, but it was the complete and utter truth.  Loki, god of mischief and magic, wanted Clint Barton enough that he had saved him from torment, had hand washed him and given him back all that he had lost.  Loki wanted Clint, and now, he was pretty sure they both knew he had him.

As if this were written on his face for all to read, Loki grinned, his hands now pushing Clint back against the wall as he leaned forward to kiss his hawk.  It was only a quick pressing of lips to lips before Loki was pulling back again, kneeling in front of his hawk to press his hands into Clint’s legs, massaging out the aches there too.  That one action of this powerful sorcerer kneeling for him blew all thoughts from his head and Clint gaped down at Loki, only realizing he was hard when the sorcerer started to knead at his thighs and Clint’s cock brushed Loki’s face, leaving a trail of precome on the sorcerer’s sculptured cheekbone.  The unintended action brought an amused grin to Loki’s lips and Clint’s former master finished up his impromptu massage, wrapping both hands around Clint’s hips to hold him in place against the wall.  Then, as relaxed as can be, he licked a long stripe up the front of Clint’s cock. 

Clint gasped for breath, his automatic buck forward easily restrained by Loki’s grip as the sorcerer teased him, breathing softly over his newly hairless groin and sucking lightly on the sides of his cock and his balls, not giving Clint enough of what he needed. 

“Please” He breathed out as the sorcerer trailed a finger over his perineum to rub small circles over his hole, barely dipping in before pulling out again. 

“Are you going to beg?  Plead for whatever I give you?”  Loki asked, his tone so fucking amused, his words blowing softly against his damp skin. 

Clint knew it was an order and that he would give in anyways, so he begged, pleading with his former master in a way he normally would’ve been terribly ashamed of, but threading his hands into Loki’s hair to gain back some illusion of control in this whirlwind his life had suddenly become.  With a devious grin that sang of mischief, Loki swallowed him down in one go, easily pressing forward until his nose met skin and right away slipping two suddenly lubed fingers into Clint’s ass.  Loki’s tongue prodded at the slit and swirled around the head and he unerringly found Clint’s prostate, massaging it as he swallowed around his mouthful.  Afterwards Clint couldn’t have said what exactly Loki did, just that it was the most amazing blowjob he had ever received, flinging him high on waves of pleasure and bombarding him until he reached the peak, tipping over the edge into orgasm and curling in on himself with the force of it. 

When he finally came down from the aftershocks Clint found himself on the floor with his legs spread on either side of his still kneeling former master, once again gasping like a beached fish.  Loki still had that infuriating, amazing, brilliant smirk on his face, and Clint could do nothing but grin in reply.  Loki slid one of his hands behind Clint’s head and directed him into a kiss, this time the opposite of chaste as he shoved his tongue into his hawk’s mouth to feed him his own come.  In response Clint eagerly lapped at the taste, unused to it but loving how it mixed with the taste of Loki, how it proved that they were _Loki_ and _Clint_ , how he belonged with and to the sorcerer. 

Loki pulled back before Clint was satisfied and the archer let out a small whine of protest that he quickly silenced, meeting the sorcerer’s eyes and waiting.

“You are mine, precious Hawk.  I will not let those who lost you take you back, nor will I let anyone else have you.”  The mention of the Avengers startled Clint for a second and he frowned at the thought of not seeing any of them again.  Before he could put up any protest however, Loki continued.  “I know you have your friends, and you may visit and stay with them, but you are _mine_ first and foremost.  Stark’s security, nor all the Avengers can stop me from being with you, when you choose to stay them.  I may have taken your mind without your consent originally, but I am not needlessly cruel to those who are mine, and you are _mine_.”

The last part could’ve been a statement, and Clint knew it was, but it was also once last out, once more chance to say he didn’t want this, didn’t want to belong to Loki.  A hint of questioning anxiety that belayed Loki’s uncertainty as to whether Clint wanted to be his.  The following silence was not as strained as it should’ve been with the amount of emotions was going through. 

Surprise—he would acknowledge Clint’s desire to stay with the people who had become his family?—fear—this was Loki, the sorcerer who had stolen his mind!  What the heck was he thinking to give himself to such a creature?—exhilaration—they could be together, he could have Loki and ‘Tasha and Coulson, and maybe even Stark and Rogers and Banner, he would belong, and be given, and be owned—and amazement—this wasn’t yet a command, this was Loki offering, asking, giving him a chance to say no, he didn’t belong to a mass murderer, wanted nothing to do with the eventual bringer of Ragnarök, the sorcerer who was baring himself to Clint, who’s emotions the hawk could so easily break through a simple word—until finally, an answer. 

Clint pressed back into the hand cupping the back of his head and neck, lowering his head slightly in deference to his master.  “Yours Loki, always yours.”

Loki’s lips claimed his in a biting kiss, both of them grinning into it like fools, fools who had started out with nothing, been through so much, and only now had finally found their place, where they belonged. 

Together, the hawk and his master. 


End file.
